Doctor Who_ The Gallifrey Chronicles - Lance Parkin [51]
He was back in the dark cellar.
He left it again. Every time, it became easier to return.
106
He remembered the wall.
It was a stone wall, about twice his height. Behind heavy iron gates the small, cunning man he’d seen before, asleep lying on a bed of flowers. He was wearing a white suit, cut from the finest dreams.
‘Is it. . . time. . . already?’ the Doctor asked.
The small man sat up suddenly.
‘That was a nice nap. Just three questions: where am I, who am I and who are you? But wait! Your shoes – they fit perfectly!’ he gabbled, in a Scottish accent.
The little man hesitated, then pulled himself together. ‘Oh, that’s the trouble with memories. All that déjà vu. All those things you don’t want to be reminded of. It’s excess baggage, you know. I envy you. What could the relevance possibly be if I remember Ace’s visit to Paradise Towers?’
The Doctor stayed quiet.
The little man sighed. ‘This is all terribly symbolic. With the emphasis on terrible. Clear thinking, that’s what’s needed now.’
He came ambling over and poked his nose through the gate.
‘I think you’re in my mind,’ the Doctor said.
‘Well, I think you’re in mine,’ the little man replied slyly. ‘Either way, there seems to be more than enough room for both of us.’
Yellow blossoms were falling like rain on the other side of the wall, in countless numbers.
‘Times like this, I need an umbrella. I used to have one, but you gave it to Benny.’
‘There must be millions of blossoms.’
‘One hundred and fifty-three thousand, eight hundred and forty-one of them,’ the little man replied instantly.
‘You’ve counted?’
‘The maths is simple enough. I’ll give you a clue: you just have to remember to subtract five at the end.’
‘Could you open the gate for me?’
‘If you say the magic word.’
‘Please?’
The little man chuckled. ‘Not that magic word. You’ve got plenty of room on that side. Certainly more room than any human being. Over a century’s worth of memories, for one thing. Space for plenty more.’
‘This is like talking to a wall,’ the Doctor sighed.
This reminded him of something, something outside.
‘Hang on a minute!’ he exclaimed.
And he was back in the cellar.
∗ ∗ ∗
107
Trix sighed. She’d woken, got up, showered, dried off and dressed. In that time, Fitz had managed to sit up in his bed and get the guitar on to his lap.
‘Do you know what you’re singing tonight yet? That pub looks like the sort of place where golden oldies would go down well.’
‘Why else do you think I want to spend an evening there?’
‘You could sing one of those parallel universe Beatles songs you were talking about.’
Fitz thought about it. ‘“Back Home”? No, how about this one?’
He played a couple of chords. ‘On the road to Rishikesh / I was dreaming more or less.’
‘That’s just “Jealous Guy” with different lyrics,’ Trix pointed out. Fitz paused.
‘Yes. Hadn’t even noticed that. Well, it’s cheating anyway, isn’t it? I’m going to do something new, I think.’
‘You mean the Scissor Sisters or something?’
‘No. Something I’ve written.’
‘What?’
‘Well. . . I haven’t actually written it. Not yet. I think I’ve got the tune. It doesn’t have a chorus. I’m not sure it needs one.’
He strummed a couple of chords and started to sing: ‘I’ve travelled to the past, sweetheart / And I’ve been to the future, too.’
‘It’s not about us, is it?’
Fitz shook his head. ‘No, that’s private. This is just the opposite really.’
Trix seemed half-relieved, half-disappointed. ‘You do know it’s just a little pub thing, don’t you?’
‘Oh yeah. But I want to get it right.’ He strummed the guitar again.
Rachel had brought the Doctor a coffee.
He was sitting up, alert. It didn’t look as if he had slept – that would be difficult tied up like he was – but neither did he look exhausted.
‘Where’s Marnal?’
‘Looking up punishments. Trying to, anyway.’
‘You couldn’t free my wrists just for a moment?’ he asked. ‘I just need to rub a bit of life back into them.’
‘No. You’ll hit me.’
‘Hit you?’
‘With that karate.’
The Doctor gave a beatific smile. ‘It was aikido. Purely defensive.